Say What You Mean
by no-otters-in-the-flight-deck
Summary: Alternate universe fan-fiction. Sherlock, John, Molly, Irene and co attend university together. John soon meets shy medical student Molly Hooper, and her room mate Irene Adler.
1. Chapter 1

**_Authors Note: _**_This is a fanfiction I wrote for my friend Amy. She loves BBC Sherlock as much as the next shipper, but would love to see more heterosexual fanfiction out there; so this is for her :) Please note this is a work in progress._

* * *

"Wake up."

"I'm awake."

"Get up."

"Why should I?"

"We're late."

"For what?"

"Chemistry."

"Dull."

The tall boy shuffled underneath the sheet he had cocooned himself inside, until three of his four long limbs were sticking out from odd angles underneath it. John sighed in frustration, a sound he had made a lot in the past month. Why should he have to be stuck with the most irritating and worst of all, lazy, room mate on the entire campus? It really was just his luck for turning up late and starting late into the second semester, he had ended up with the room mate nobody had wanted; and for good reason.

"The lecturer is bad, frightfully boring and persist on being consistently inaccurate."

The lump underneath the bed sheet spoke, his words muffled by the surrounding cotton.

"You still need to get up." John huffed, stamping his foot into the carpet in protest.

The younger boy groaned in frustration and kicked off the stained bed-sheet, leaving it to gather in a heap on the floor. He was messy by nature, but John was almost military neat. He bent down and swaddled the sheet in his arms, balling it up and tossing it into a nearby laundry bin. The bin seemed to be empty, although anyone with eyes could see there were dirty clothes everywhere. Only four weeks into the second semester and he was already picking up after his room mate.

This was going to be a long year.

"Coffee."

John shoved a hot mug into the awaiting slack hand, briefly warning him of it's heat before stalking from the room. That upper class prick might not mind being twenty minutes late for every class, but John certainly did, and he was already five minutes late due to his fantastic room mate stealing all his clean socks for some kind of experiment. He grabbed his backpack on the way out and left a scribbled note on the barely utilised desk.

* * *

Sherlock stumbled out from his bedroom, rubbing his sleep filled eyes and trying to remember what he was getting up so early for. Something about... oh, right, Chemistry. John had woken him up for Chemistry. How ridiculously pedestrian of him. Still dressed in last night's jeans and totally topless, he wandered out into their main shared living space. A small room, television in the corner, well worn in arm-chairs, a bookcase, desk, mini-fridge and a small cooking stove tucked into the corner, as if it were an afterthought. There was a note that had been tossed haphazardly onto his barely used desk, and he stepped closer so as to read the neat scrawl of John Hamish Watson.

"Morning lazy git. Breakfast in the fridge. Don't be late for Revision Period. -JW"

Sherlock smirked. Breakfast. What day was it? Friday. He probably should eat something. He strolled over to the mini fridge and pulled the catch, shifting a few things around before settling on a plate of pancakes. He tore one in half and shoved it in his mouth, jamming the rest of the plate back into the already cluttered fridge. Time? Almost nine. He was forty five minutes late for revision. Doesn't matter. Clothes? These jeans were still good. He wandered back into his bedroom and pulled out a black button down shirt and some clean socks. After another fifteen minutes, Sherlock Holmes wandered from his dorm in dark denim jeans, a black shirt and black converse, laces trailing across the floor as he meandered to the auditorium.

* * *

"Sorry. Excuse me. Sorry, sorry. Pardon me."

John hurried his apologies as he stumbled his way through the auditorium until he finally reached the back row. He was usually the only one sitting there, but today there was someone else. A small, petite girl was sitting smack bang in the centre, exactly where John usually sat himself. He edge his way nearer towards the girl and when he still wasn't acknowledged after a few moments of sitting there awkwardly, he plopped himself down unceremoniously next to her.

"Hullo." He said, trying to peer around a catch a glimpse of her face.

"Hi." The girls voice was shy and quiet, wavering slightly as she spoke.

"I'm John. John Watson."

The girl paused and looked over at John. She seemed nice enough, she wasn't trying to be rude. She was just shy, and obviously new at a large university wouldn't have been helping.

"Molly. Molly Hooper." She said, as she smiled and then let her eyes drop to her notebook.

"Nice to meet you Miss Hooper." John opened his backpack and took out his own notebook.

Molly was wearing a cream pleated skirt that hung just above her knees, knees which were covered in woollen stockings. The stockings were white with red hearts printed on them, and there was a small grass stain on the calf of her left leg. On top of the stockings she wore bright red knee high converse, the same shoes he was used to seeing ankle length on his dorm mate. The laces had been tightened as far as they would go and had been wrapped around her leg several times before being double knotted at the space behind her knee.

She was wearing a thick sweater, this was navy blue with red hearts, chosen to match the socks, that was obviously three sizes too big for her slight frame and hanging off her shoulders. She kept reaching over to pull it up again, shooting John nervous glances every time she did so, he pretended not to notice.

Her mousy brown hair, almost bordering on blonde, was parted in the centre and scooped up into a loose pony tail just above the nape of her neck, with loose strands flying out around her face.

"What are um, revising?" John asked, as he opened his own chemistry text book.

"Human biology." She said, not taking her eyes from her paper as she spoke.

"Oh, really? What are you here for then?"

"I want to get my doctorate." She said, smiling with pride.

"So do I." John said, looking away and uncapping his pen.

Molly let herself look at John, her lips on the brink of a grin. She glanced away and tried to focus her mind back on biology notes. Bones of the hand. Right. Name them. Get them down. Come on Molly, concentrate. Just because a really cute boy sits next to you, that doesn't mean you have the right to totally throw your education out of the window.

The both sat in silence as they took notes from their separate text books, both of them smiling inwardly at themselves as they revelled in each others company. John was smart, well dressed, neat and social. Molly was intelligent, shy and obviously a complete fashion victim. As much as John wouldn't like to admit it, he was finding himself rather smitten with this girl already.

The door slammed back on it's hinges as it was swung open with obvious force. A few seconds later, Sherlock Holmes came strolling through the double door of the auditorium, looking like he didn't have a care in the world, much less like he was almost an hour late for revision period. The professor stormed up to him and demanded to know why he was late, to which Sherlock gave a short hushed reply and made his way up the steps to where John was sitting with-

John was sitting with someone. Someone that wasn't Sherlock. He narrowed his eyes and surveyed to girl. Nineteen years old, she was here for almost exactly the same classes John was. Going in for her doctorate then? Nice. Intelligent. In need of some serious help in the wardrobe department. She seemed to be angling herself towards John as they sat scribbling on their papers in silence. Physical attraction? Possibly. He glanced at John. Change that possibly to a probably. John practically stunk of pheromones from here.

"Excuse me Miss Hooper."

Sherlock loomed over the small girl and spoke like this wasn't supposed to be a silent study session.

"Y-y-yes?" Molly stuttered, nervously dropping her pen on the floor as she started.

"May I please get past?"

Sherlock was being unusually polite. John knew he must have a ulterior motive, but he chose to ask his dorm mate about it later. Molly stuttered through her reply and moved her bag from the aisle as she tucked her legs in to let Sherlock pass swiftly. He folded himself into the chair beside hers and proceeded to tuck his chin into his chest, and fall asleep.

Molly gave John a look that said 'How did he know my name?' and John shot one back as if to say 'He's Sherlock Holmes, who the fuck knows?' and she shrugged and went back to work, after retrieving her pen from the floor where it had been dropped.

"So Molly, what room are you in?" John tried to make small talk as Sherlock hung back.

"221A. I'm roomed with another new girl, but I don't think she's arrived yet."

"Well we're in 221B if you ever get lonely. Right next door. Well I better go before Sherlock starts throwing things. Bye for now!"

John turned around and loped towards where Sherlock was dragging his feet several yards behind them. Molly opened her mouth, closed it again, turned slowly, and continued to walk to her next class. Sherlock and John had free period next, so there was no hurry to get going just yet.

* * *

"Ok, what was that all about?"

John rounded on his dorm mate and started the interrogation.

"I haven't the slightest idea what you mean."

"You know exactly what I mean."

"I do have manners John."

"Yes, but why were you using them?"

"Why were you chatting her up?"

"Don't change the subject."


	2. Chapter 2

_**Authors Note: **Welcome to Chapter 2! Please note this is a work in progress and I am a year 12 student with classes to study for... I may not update for a few days; but bare with me for smut and fluff!_

* * *

"John, I'm bored."

"Sherlock, I am working."

John had repeated this same sentence at least four times in the past six minutes. Sherlock was sitting on the floor, his legs crossed over one another and his head in his hands, smack bang in the middle of Johns bedroom. John was perched on the edge of his bed, laptop on his knees, typing furiously as his brow furrowed in concentration.

"That's not working John. That's typing out mindless rubbish in order to get an approval mark from a teacher you're never going to see again."

"Yes, but this mindless rubbish is needed for me to graduate."

"How boring."

"Yes I can see how that might be at your inconvenience."

John sighed and the clicking of his fingers against the keys ceased for a moment. Sherlock looked up through the fan of his long fingers at his room mate, and saw him also with his head rested in his hands. John had been trying to get this report in for an hour and a half, failing every time he printed it and re-writing his final copy.

"I need to get this done."

"Why?"

"Because I want to pass."

"Why?"

"Sherlock- I swear to god..."

John was seething. Sherlock was not helping in the slightest. In fact he was making it worse. Getting him to proof read the first copy and pointing out all of the mistakes before jack knifing it to the coffee table had not been John's best idea. Suddenly there was a knock on the door. It had been barely audible through the closed door of John's bedroom, but both of them stiffened and stilled at the rapping of knuckles against worn out wood.

Suddenly Sherlock's mind went into over-drive. Small knuckles. Small hands; it was a woman. From the sound and the height of the knock on the door she wasn't the tallest, probably at least half a head shorter than John. The knock was light; she was shy, timid. There was shuffling outside the door, definitely nervous. Unsettled. It was the girl. Sherlock was almost sure it was the girl. What was her name? Maggie, Mary...

"Molly!" John exclaimed.

He chucked his laptop to the side, landing quite safely in Sherlock's hands, weighting them down before he rested it on the rug. John took a few strides towards the door and threw it open, only stopping to check himself in the mirror, much to Sherlock's amusement, before wrenching the main door open to see exactly who he was expecting.

"Hi- uh Hey, J-John." Molly stuttered through her greeting, staring at her feet.

"Hey Molly. Nice to see you. How- how can I help you?"

John tried to slow his breathing, he hadn't realised how pent up he had been until she looked up, smiled, and he felt his entire body relaxing. Molly opened her mouth to reply, but before she could get a word out Sherlock was suddenly behind him, his tall figure looming over the both of them in the doorway. John winced visibly.

"Miss Hooper. What a pleasure." Sherlock's voice was as smooth as melted chocolate.

Molly simply nodded after a few failed attempts to greet Sherlock, so she simply looked back down at her hands, which she was wringing nervously around each other.

"So... What are you here for?" John smiled as he tried to nudge Sherlock back inside.

"I uh, well I was having trouble with my Chem report." She sighed in resignation.

Sherlock sniggered with laughter before being elbowed in the gut and forced to turn it into a reel of hacking coughs.

"Oh really? I think uh- I think John might have been as well." He coughed.

"Oh well, maybe we could help each other out?" Molly said, raising her eyes to John's.

"I'd like that very much." John smiled at her, and welcomed her inside the dorm.

Sherlock retreated back into the living area and perched himself on the edge of the sofa, picking up a rubix cube and trailing his fingers around the edges before twisting three sections into place one after the other. Molly stepped over the threshold as John held the door open for her, patting the front of his jumper down nervously before stepping in himself and closing the door.

"See if you put your thesis statement from-" Molly pointed at the screen over John's shoulder "This paragraph here, with your evidence and practical information from-" She leaned in closer and pointed again, "That paragraph there, it makes so much more sense than the layout you've already got it in."

Molly sat back on her heels, looking pleased with herself as John read it through, nodded, and begun to rearrange his final report as she watched. Sherlock was sprawled out on the sofa, his long limbs barely contained as his right arm and leg hung over the edge. He was staring up at the ceiling with a newly muddled rubix cube in his palm, looking at it as if he were trying to stare it into the right order. John and Molly were sitting on the floor, John cross legged facing Sherlock and Molly kneeling a few feet behind him. She had dashed next door to retrieve her own laptop and notes about twenty minutes after arriving and these were sitting forgotten beside her.

"What time is it?" Molly said through a stifled yawn.

John glanced at the clock in the corner of his screen and screwed up his face.

"It's uh- well it's almost one."

Molly stopped fidgeting behind him and flopped to the ground, stretching her legs out from underneath her and hugging her arms around her torso. She groaned quietly and closed her eyes.

"I am so exhausted!"

John glanced over his shoulder and did a double take when he saw Molly, stretched out on his living room carpet, one woollen stocking rolled down around her ankle and sleep in her eyes. He chuckled lightly and closed his laptop, making sure to save the report and back it up before doing so; they had just spent three hours perfecting his structure after all.

"You shouldn't have stayed so long." He said, yawning himself as he spoke.

"I wanted to help you."

"You did."

"Good."

There was a slight pause as Molly peeled an eye open, looking at John and hastily looking away when their eyes met. John looked away too, awkwardly folding his arms across his chest as he did so. Molly hauled herself up off the ground so that her knees were hugged against her torso, and he reached down to pull the stray stocking back up. As she did this John reached forward and hitched her loose jumper back over her small shoulder, patting it down to make sure it stayed where he put it. Molly pretended not to notice he had done this as she looked around for her shoes.

"I should go... ?" She said, her voice hitching as it came out sounding like a question.

"Sure thing, could I get your number? Just if I need help again, with one of my reports, I could call you in case you're out." John said, pushing himself to ask.

"Of course, yes, yes, of course!"

Molly stopped speaking as she tried to calm herself down, taking a few deep breaths and willing herself not to repeat the affirmative again. John thrust his hand into his jean pockets as he searched for his phone, coming up dry.

"Bedroom, John, it's in the bedroom."

Sherlock spoke without looking over at them as he twirled the rubix cube in his palm, clicking a few panels into place before chucking it across the room, where Molly stared at the completed puzzle in disbelief. That was the third time he had solved it in under and hour, each time demanding either John or Molly muddle it again before handing it back to him. John had done it twice, Molly the third, and she had been so sure he wouldn't be able to get it.

John huffed and unfolded himself from the floor, ignoring the nagging pain in his legs as the pins and needles struck him hard. He spent almost ten minutes searching for his phone, before finding it tucked between his pillows and inside one of the cases, before almost running back to the living area. He stopped short when he saw what had happened when he had been away.

Sherlock had shifted over on the sofa, something he had never seen him do before and was surprised to see him do now, to make room for Molly. It was a small chair, and they both fit on it but only just, making it so that they were both pressed shoulder to shoulder when seated as far away as possible from each other. However this was only the beginning of the surprise, Molly seemed to have dozed off in John's absence, slumped down in the chair with her now loose hair sprayed over he shoulders... and Sherlock's. She was curled with her legs underneath her, her head resting on Sherlock's shoulder as he texted at record speed. It was an odd gesture, and it was even more odd that his dorm mate was letting her do it.

Molly sniffed slightly as she fidgeted in her sleep, brushing some hair from her face and inadvertently fanning it into Sherlock's. John giggled quietly to himself as Sherlock flinched at the light brown hairs that tickled his nose. Sherlock scowled. John collected Molly's belongings from the carpet and piled them next to her feet neatly. As he did this he saw that she had managed to track down one shoe and pulled it loosely onto her foot, so he located the other and placed it with her laptop. He then, carefully, slipped the first off, placing her foot back on the sofa and watching as she lazily opened her eyes, not moving from where she was resting.

"What-" She looked around, confused, before John spoke.

"It's fine, go back to sleep. I'll wake you in the morning." He said, patting her knee.

She opened her mouth in protest, but it seemed she was too overcome with sleep to do anything more, as she soon sighed and slumped back into sleep. Sherlock glared at her, huffing before redirecting his attention back to his phone. John only smiled.

There was a girl asleep on his sofa (and his room mate) at one in the morning, and he smiled slightly at the absurd thought. He took his thick jumper off over his head and draped it over her knees, managing to cover her legs completely, before wandering to his own bedroom, setting his alarm, and collapsing into bed.

It seemed he was looking forward to his next chem report.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Authors Note: **Thanks to everyone who reviewed the first two chapters! It means a lot to me. On to chapter three now! My chapters are quite short, but I should update fairly regularly, chapters should only be a day or two apart. I know everyone's keen for Irene to join us; but she doesn't come in just yet. Sorry to disappoint! _

* * *

Molly woke with a start.

Her eyes felt bleary and heavy lidded, a thick dusting of drowsy sleep dusting her lashes. She groaned. Was it morning already? Surely it couldn't be morning already. She opened her eyes, one at a time, and clamped them closed again as she saw a small crack of early morning light seeping in between the curtains hung haphazardly over the small window.

"Go back to sleep." A deep voice demanded from the kitchen.

Molly sat up; clasping her head as the blood rushed from it and re-opening her eyes as she rubbed them to disperse the sleep. Who was that in the kitchen? And why were they in the kitchen at- she glanced at her watch where it had ridden up her wrist during the night- three in the morning!

"Where am I?"

Molly placed her feet flat on the floor, not bothering to pull her wool stockings back up from where they had gathered around her ankles, slurring her woods as she spoke.

"Room 221B on campus, opposite Lecture room C." The deep voice answered her, steadily.

"Oh- right. Thank you."

Molly answered the voice, being as polite as she felt she could manage at such an appalling time. She was sitting on a small sofa, feet placed firmly on the floor, stockings rolled around her ankles, her jumper falling off her shoulder and bunched around her wrists. As she went to stand up, something fell from her lap with a soft thud to the floor. She glanced down and saw it was a jumper; not entirely different to her own; except it was about three times larger and obviously tailored to fit someone of the male orientation. Picking it up from the floor, she neatly folded it in her lap and smoothed her hands over the soft cable knit, wondering whose it was.

"John's."

Molly jumped as the deep voice again penetrated her thoughts. John's? Who was- oh. John's. The friendly boy from the auditorium. What was John's jumper doing draped over her knees as she slept on a sofa in an unfamiliar room. And who was that in the kitchen? And how had he known what she was thinking? She pushed herself up from the sofa, placing the jumper to one side, and stepped slowly into the kitchen. The figure that had been speaking before was now sitting down at a cluttered desk in a corner of the room, a mug of tea in his left hand and a phone in his left; where he was texting something obviously important.

"What are you doing?"

Molly's small voice shook slightly as she spoke; now realising that the tall, slim figure sitting at the desk was Sherlock Holmes; possibly the most intimidating man on the entire campus.

"I'm teaching this elephant to waltz. What do you think I'm doing?"

Sherlock huffed from where he was perched on the edge of a battered looking wooden chair. He rolled his eyes at her and took another sip from the piping hot mug.

"Manners."

Molly was surprised as the words slipped from her own mouth, as she had said them without thinking. Manners, indeed. He should learn to have a few more of them when it came to socialising with people. He may be an anti-social bastard but that didn't mean he had to be rude. Sherlock looked up from his phone, also surprised at the reprimand he had received for his sarcasm. Molly Hooper; the girl who berated Sherlock Holmes for his manners. Or lack of them. The only person besides John and Mycroft who had ever even dared.

"I-uh my apologies, Miss Hooper." Sherlock replied, hastily returning to his phone.

* * *

John listened from where he had been standing next to his door; edging it open a crack to get a better view. He had woken when Sherlock had gotten up to make himself some tea; his first initiative had been to go back to bed, but he had soon jumped out of bed when he remembered Molly asleep on the sofa. As he had pulled on some socks and a T-shirt he knew if she hadn't been awake before she certainly was now; as Sherlock began to bang the glassware around in the cupboard, looking for a mug.

John stopped short however, when he reached the door and peered out only to find Sherlock and Molly sitting together at Sherlock's cluttered desk; their backs to John and neither of them were speaking. Not properly anyway. Every now and again one of them would speak; usually Molly, and the other would answer; usually Sherlock with one of his many witticisms. His heart jumped when he heard Molly berate his room mate on his manners, and he fought with the urge to run out and give her a quick high five, or at least even a hug.

You go Molly Hooper.

John smiled to himself when Holmes apologised.

You go Molly Hooper. Get that ignorant sod to apologise for once.

* * *

John stumbled out into the main living area of their dorm dressed only in boxer shorts, a white under shirt, and some stripy socks he had been given the previous Christmas. Sherlock was asleep; or seemingly so; sprawled out all long arms and legs in the middle of the living room, directly opposite John's bedroom door it was a wonder he had seen the body in time not to trip over it. He was stretched out in the perfect imitation of a star fish, eyes closed and his fore head slightly furrowed as if dreaming about something rather troubling. John sighed and simply stepped over him; on his way to make a good cup of tea to start his morning.

He paused when he saw he wasn't the only one moving around in the room. There was someone in the kitchen. It took his a few moments to realise who that someone was. Molly. Molly was still here. Why was she still here? Surely she would have gone back to her own room by now? Not that John didn't want her there. Quite the opposite. He was simply taken aback that she had managed to handle Sherlock overnight and still stick around in the morning.

"Morning John!" Molly called from the kitchen; where she was filling up the kettle from the tap.

"Morning. What's going on here then?"

John spoke as if he had just stumbled in on something quite absurd. On any other occasion this would be quite normal. A girl making tea for her boyfriend and his room mate at seven o clock in the morning. But there was the catch; Molly was not his girlfriend. He had only met her the day before. He didn't seem to mind the concept though. No. Stop it. John cursed inside his head. He was getting way too ahead of himself. He always did that; he got too close too fast and then let his heart get ripped to shreds and stomped on in front of an entire paying audience.

"Making tea for you. Sherlock and I already had some."

The body outside John's door grunted in approval. John chuckled slightly; he should have known Sherlock hadn't really been asleep; and turned back to Molly. Now that he was awake, he noticed she was wearing different clothes to the ones she had donned the day before. Today she was wearing jeans, dark denim and skin tight, with a large baggy sweater over the top. Instead of cream cable knit it was quite long, almost drooping down to her knees, with thick black and white horizontal striped across it. She wasn't wearing any shoes, only socks, and her hair was loose.

"Sherl- you guys had tea?"

John was still sleepy and was having trouble comprehending what was happening.

"Yes. Sherlock made us some. John? What's the matter?"

Molly stopped what she was doing and came striding towards him, as all of the colour had drained dramatically from his complexion. Sherlock had made tea... Did Sherlock even know how to make tea? He'd never seen it happen. John supposed it was possible. Just highly improbable. In all the time they had been room mates John had never even seen Sherlock pick up a fork to eat a decent meal, let alone take the initiative and make tea. But apparently he had.

"N-nothing. Nothing. You uh- are you ok Molly?"

John placed a hand on her shoulder, stroking the material of her jumper softly with his thumb.

"Yes, I'm fine. Thanks for letting me stay; I didn't plan on falling asleep! I'm sorry. Why don't you go and get dressed while I get us something to eat?"

As Molly spoke, she brought a hand up to place it on his chest, but realising that might be slightly too personal, she settled for fiddling with the hem of his T-shirt. They stood there for a few seconds, Molly with her hand at John's waist and John with his hand at Molly's shoulder, before John realised he was still basically in his underwear. Standing there in just his boxers, T-shirt and socks, his face flushed brilliant red as Molly giggled.

"Go on. Go and get dressed."

He hurried back to his room and pulled on some clean jeans and a plaid shirt. Running his fingers through his hair and brushing his teeth vigorously; he made his way back out.

* * *

"What gets wet while drying?"

"A towel."

"What's black and white and red all over?"

"Easy. A newspaper. Next."

"That's all I have."

"Smarty pants." John said, from the other end of the sofa.

John and Sherlock were sitting together companionably on the sofa, John with his legs crossed and Sherlock sitting up on the balls of his feet, knees pulled up by his chin. Molly was sitting opposite them on a dining room chair; he ankles crossed together as she talked with the boys. Sherlock and Molly both had a free day that day, and John only had classes in the evening. They had the day to themselves. Molly had been giving Sherlock riddles, watching him in amazement as he solved one after the other without even a second thought. Molly was soon getting used to the brilliant mind of Sherlock Holmes; and was perplexed as to why John found it irritating sometimes.

* * *

"John?"

"Mmm?"

John was distracted; opening boxes and shuffling them around. They had ordered Chinese takeaway before John had to go to evening classes and he was sorting them out so people got what they ordered and not someone elses.

"Why does it annoy you?" Molly asked.

"Why does what annoy me?" He replied, digging around in the draw for some forks.

"Sherlock. How smart he is."

John sighed.

"It doesn't annoy me, Molly. It just- well sometimes other people can't see past it. Some people either only like him because he's smart, or greatly dislike him because he's smart. They never actually sit down and get to know what got him where he is other than his intelligence. He's just a brain to some people."

"I think he's sweet."

"S-sweet?"

John almost choked on his own words. Sweet? Sherlock Holmes? Sweet? John didn't know for sure but he was pretty sure that was the first time anyone had ever used to word sweet to describe his room mate.

"Yes. I mean- I fell asleep on his last night and he didn't wake me up. He doesn't seem to mind me being around even though he would usually have you or the room to himself. He made me tea when I woke up and went back to my apartment to get me clean clothes when I woke up. He's sweet."

John glanced back towards the sofa, where there was in fact another pile of clothes next to the arm. A thick cable knit jumper adorned the top of the pile; and they were indeed the clothes she had been wearing the day before. Why- this was getting weirder. Sherlock wasn't usually like this. At least not with him. And he was sure Sherlock didn't like Molly. Not like that anyway. What was going on? Sherlock came loping into the kitchen and snatched up a noodle with his finger; dangling it into his mouth before having his hands batted away by an annoyed John.

"You. Outside. Now."

John stalked through the door and into the corridor of their building, tapping his foot with impatience as he waited to be joined by the detective. Sherlock was acting strangely. And he was going to find out why if it was the last thing he did.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Author's Note: **I must apologize for how long this chapter has taken to upload. I've been going through some personal stuff at the moment but I wrote almost all of this chapter at four in the morning so I hope you guys appreciate it! ha. Hope you guys like it- the long anticipated entrance of one Irene Adler included! Thanks again. Reviews are love people. Follow me on tumblr for updates on when the next chapter will be up (no-otters-on-the-flight-deck) x_

* * *

"Ok Sherlock. Out with it. Now."

John slammed the door only moments after the lanky teenager managed to squeeze himself through it and turn on his room mate. He stood with his arms crossed over his chest, feet spread apart and one foot tapping impatiently on the tiled flooring.

"I don't have any idea what you're referring to."

Oh so it was going to be like this was it? Fine. If Sherlock wasn't going to play fair then neither was John. Sherlock took way too many liberties around his only friend already; and John was about to take some of them away.

"If you're going to be like that, then at least let me tell you this. I like this girl Sherlock, and I'm starting to get the impression she liked me too. So if this is some kind of-"

John trailed off as he waved his arms manically, searching for a word.

"Experiment- then you can forget about it, and stop it now. No experimenting on my girlfriends."

"She isn't your girlfriend." Sherlock bit back with a pointed glare.

"Not yet."

John grinned and winked; spinning around on his heel to walk back through the door to their room. Molly was sweet; and he was fairly sure she was interested. But if Sherlock was going to keep up this creepy politeness then this didn't bode well for either of them. Sherlock's deep voice stopped him as his hand rested on the door handle; echoing around the empty hallway.

"You seem awfully self-assured John."

John turned again and stalked back to his room mate in three long strides. He pushed him back until he hit the wall and placed one hand either side of his head against the hard surface; managing to look down on Sherlock even though he was miles taller. John leaned forward and whispered in Sherlock's ear; lips brushing the mess of brunette curls that presented themselves.

"Wouldn't you be if you were me?" He said, a smile evident in his tone.

John had known from his early teens that he was bisexual; and he knew for a fact that Sherlock was as well. Sherlock had kept his distance, making sure no mixed messaged were sent in regards to their relationship; they were room mates and that was that. Sherlock kept John entertained, and John kept Sherlock from accidentally killing himself.

"That's- that's not fair."

Sherlock's voice caught in his throat as he spoke, giving John one hard push to the chest and shoving him away. John knew that Sherlock found his short stocky body rather aesthetically pleasing; he had caught him staring at his arse too many times to count. Although neither of them really held any sort of attraction towards each other; when someone was sexy- well. They were sexy. And there was nothing you could do about it.

"You don't play fair- and neither will I."

John smiled smugly as he made his way back into the room, shutting the door with a soft click behind him as he left Sherlock to his thoughts.

* * *

Sherlock sulked in his arm chair across the room as John and Molly settled themselves on the sofa to watch some kind of obscure quiz show. They had their Chinese take out settled on their laps, and John had Sherlock's sitting by his knee just in case he decided to look after his body for once. John grinned as Molly answered a question rather over enthusiastically and dropped a forkful of noodles on her lap in the process. She picked them up with her fork and dumped them back inside her container; pausing for a moment before blushing a brilliant shade of beetroot.

"That's embarrassing..."

John only smiled and shuffled a little closer to her on the sofa, smiling as their shoulders brushed against each other. She smiled back and a little giggle escaped her lips as she did so. She really did like John; she liked him more than she had liked anyone else in a long time.

"Oh for gods sake."

Sherlock huffed and and jumped up from where he had been sitting; storming towards the door and yanking it open in one swift movement and stepping outside, not bothering to put shoes on before stomping just as purposefully down the hallway. John sighed and shot a glance at Molly; who was staring at the open doorway with her mouth hanging open in shock.

"He's always like that. Just ignore him, he doesn't mean any harm."

John smiled and patted he knee, earning a soft sigh and a smile in return. They could now feel the cold draught sneaking in through the open door; and they could still hear Sherlock's soft padded footsteps as he paced up and down the narrow corridor. The footsteps stopped outside the room next door; pausing for a second before they heard a loud knock.

"Sher- what is he doing?" John muted the television, straining to hear.

"Th-that's my room!"

Molly stuttered in disbelief as her own fork stopped halfway up to her mouth. They both put their food to one side and leaned towards the door; openly eavesdropping. The door next to theirs opened with a creak and Molly gasped in shock.

"What- what's the matter?" John pulled her shoulders towards him and looked at her.

"N-othing she just- She's never home. I haven't even seen her more than twice."

"Really?" John's brow furrowed in curiosity. "What's her name?" He continued.

"I-do you know I don't even know... I've never had the time to ask."

"Strange, don't you think?" John said, still not meeting her gaze.

"She's never home. She comes back to the dorm in the morning and then I don't see her again until the next one. I don't even know what classes she takes, or when she takes them."

Before anyone could say anything else there was muffled movement from the next door down and then... a door. Shutting. But no Sherlock returning.

"Has he...?" Molly turned her head towards John, eyes wide open with disbelief.

"I think he has."

John's eyes were similarly wide with shock. Sherlock had gone inside. Molly's room mate had invited John's inside their room. Molly's face flushed slightly from her chest all the way up to the bridge of her nose as she realised what sort of humiliating things might be lying around. She lived there- and Sherlock was in there. Sherlock Holmes. Was inside her room. She felt a hand fly to her face as she tried to hide her embarrassment.

"Molly? Are you ok?" John tried to peer around her hands as she hid her face.

"I- I'm fine John I just- I don't know what I've left lying around."

John chuckled lightly and resumed eating. Why had Sherlock gone next door in the first place anyway? John decided to discard the thought for the moment. Why Sherlock Holmes did anything was a mystery to him. He could probably hear her thinking idiotic thoughts through a solid wall or something ridiculous like that. He raised a brow at his own thoughts and resumed eating. After a few minutes, Molly seemed to have recovered, raising her fork to her mouth and doing the same.

* * *

John switched out the light.

Molly sighed.

John smiled.

If she was going to keep falling asleep in his living room, she should probably start bringing some spare clothes. John's heart leapt at the notion; letting his mind get ahead of him once again. He let his imagination stray to cleaning out his draws, making room for skinny leg jeans and charity shop sweaters; a pair of grimy knee high cherry red converse stacked next to his clean leather Brogues by the door. Two pillows on the bed as opposed to one. Warm tea in the mornings and breakfast in bed on Sundays. He stood for a moment, his hand hovering over the light switch, his mind reeling before he finally sighed and returned to reality.

He was fortunate in the fact that reality was pretty damn adorable right now; in the form of Molly asleep on his sofa. They had been watching television; some obscure soap show she insisted they stop on when he was flicking through, him in the armchair and Molly curled up on the sofa. Eventually she had fallen asleep, and now she was stretched out on the cushions on her side, knees slightly bent with one foot hanging over the edge. She had one hand tucked under her sightly sleep flushed cheek and another resting on her rib cage. She sighed and licked her lips in her sleep; eyes fluttering and making John stand to attention.

He wandered back into his own room; stripping down to his boxers and climbing into bed, for once not bothering to fold his clothes before setting out to sleep. He felt relaxed. Too relaxed to be bothered with that kind of thing.

Dear god; if he didn't watch himself he was going to turn into Sherlock Slob Holmes.

* * *

The next morning; it was John's turn to wake first.

He woke bright and early; early being the focus word of that question allowing bright to become overlooked. It was half six in the morning when he fumbled for the light switch of his bed side lamp, cursing the dark season of winter as he stubbed his toes not once, but twice on his end table.

"Stupid bloody thing..." John mumbled; contemplating moving it but filing the thought away.

He hopped next door to Sherlock's room- the room with the en suite bathroom, and showered; letting the almost scolding water run over his body and closing his eyes to daydream. By the time he emerged from the shower it was a lot lighter; early morning dew drops framing each window with the threat of rain. John dressed; blue jeans, burgundy shirt and no socks today, before stepping out into Sherlock's bedroom and stopping in his tracks.

"Morning John; used up all the hot water yet, or are you saving that for tomorrow morning?"

"Where did you go last night?" John said, eyeing the lanky adolescent stretched out on the bed.

"I went next door John, please do keep up. I know you're not really very intelligent but I really would have thought you could have worked that out by yourself from the resounding evidence presented by watching me walk next door; and then hearing me go inside."

John fixed the man with a pointed stare before stalking from the room. Sherlock had been wearing the same clothes he had been the night before; so he hadn't come home to change. And he hadn't showered when he had come home that morning. So he was distracted. John let himself wonder what the distraction was; before his mind wandered to other things.

Venturing into the living room and shutting the door with a soft click behind him, he ruffled his still slightly damp hair and reminded himself to get a haircut. It was getting rather long; golden blonde waved falling to the tips of his ears. He didn't like his hair when it was long; it went wavy and unmanageable. Tea. John needed tea.

Making his way to the kitchen, he grinned when he saw Molly still asleep on the sofa, her hair tousled and a bright orange blanket had been placed from her ankles to her shoulders. Wait a second- orange blanket? He hadn't put that there. So who had? Must have been Sherlock. It must have been. John started to shuffle around in the kitchen as quietly as he could; putting the kettle on and taking out three mugs. As he turned around- he realised he maybe should think about removing a fourth from the cupboard.

"You must be John."

There was someone in his chair. Someone tall, lanky, dark and elegant. Someone with 'I am so much smarter than you, so don't even try sweetheart' written all over their face. Someone with deep eyes that were no particular colour at all, somewhere in the middle of blue and grey and struck in between with tiny flecks of silver. Someone really, very, quite incredibly attractive.

But that someone was not Sherlock.

That someone was a woman.

"Uh- um, yes and you are?"

He already had a pretty good guess, but he wanted to make sure.

"Irene. Irene Adler, I live next door. For now anyway."

So this was the room mate. Molly's room mate. John stood awkwardly for a moment before returning to making their tea; thoughts running through his mind a mile a minute. He turned around to see Molly waking; sighing quietly, yawning and then suddenly sitting up in surprise when she caught sight of her room mate sitting opposite; eyeing her the way a lion might eye a sleeping gazelle.

"Two nights in a row? This is becoming a habit, dear."

Irene pouted her lips slightly and winked as Molly stared at her in growing disbelief.


	5. Chapter 5

**_Authors Note: _**_Thank you to all those who have been reviewing! This chapter was a bit difficult to write what with school and work on top of that- but I hope you enjoy it anyway. I suppose you could say it ends on a bit of a cliff hanger... but I supposed I'll leave that up to you. Enjoy! And remember; reviews are love ;)_

* * *

"What are you doing here?"

Molly's voice was pitched higher than usual as she squeaked out her reply. John could see the shock on her face and in the tone of her voice as he absent mindedly went back to making the coffee. He tried not to take notice of the fact that Irene seemed to still be in her pyjamas.

"I'm allowed to be here. What are you doing here?" Irene deflected the question back.

Molly's mouth opened and closed for a few moments before she suddenly pulled herself together. This is the first time she had seen Irene In at least two nights- and she was barely even dressed. Perched on the edge of Sherlock's arm chair she was wearing nothing but a slinky silk night gown; low cut with spaghetti straps and in a shocking shade of red. She was wearing nothing on her feet and her hair hung over her shoulders in glossy natural waves.

"I'm friends with John." She eventually replied.

"So I see."

There was a bit of a clutter from the kitchen as John dropped a spoon- letting it bang and against the counter before picking it back up; blushing a brilliant beet red. Way to go John. At least they're not going to forget you're there. Molly sat up a bit straighter and smoothed over her jumper. She patted down her hair and grabbed a hair tie from her wrist; pulling it into a high ponytail and tying it securely under her room mates watchful eye. Eventually John had finished with the coffee- he came over and handed Molly a mug, placed one hesitantly in front of Irene on the table and then made his way into Sherlock's room.

He was still sprawled on the bed, hands clasped under his chin and in last nights clothes. John shoved the steaming cup under his nose and was nodded in thanks. He grunted and left the room- but Sherlock's deep baritone voice stopped him before he could leave.

"What do you think?"

John paused. What did he think? What did he think of what? Before he could ask Sherlock spoke again; sighing with frustration and clearing his question up.

"What do you think of Adler. You like her?"

"What does it matter to you whether or not I like her?" John asked.

"It doesn't. Not really. But I've never been a very good character judge. I don't know whether I can trust her. I don't even know whether she likes me at all or not."

John's thoughts stopped in their tracks again- he turned on his heels and shut the door before walking over and perching himself on the end of Sherlock's bed next to the teenagers feet.

"Look Sherlock... I don't know whether you can trust her or not. You're going to have to find that part out for yourself. But as to her liking you... She let you stay in her room over night and then accompanied you back to your own room in the morning- not bothering to get dressed or even throw on some shoes or a coat first. I think she likes you."

John laughed a little silently and placed a hand on Sherlock's ankle; patting his foot in a reassuring manner. Sherlock's mouth twitched into something that ought to resemble a smile, but was still riddled with fear and worry. It wasn't like the lanky teen to be so insecure, but this was the first time John had ever seen him interact in a positive social way other than with himself. Maybe this was something after all.

Maybe she was the only other person that mattered.

The only woman who mattered.

* * *

Molly had skittered back to her room to get a change of clothes and wash and brush her teeth before returning. In the mean time; John had been left with Irene. They sat opposite each other in the main living area- John dressed in his jeans and shirt and Irene still in her night gown. They both sat and sipped their coffee- only stopping to attempt a bit of polite conversation. After about fifteen minutes of this awkward situation- Sherlock came clattering out from his room.

"There you are." Irene spoke; rising to greet him.

Sherlock took a few steps towards her and pressed a slither of blue material into her hands- his dressing gown. She smiled slightly and took it from him; shaking it out and slipping it on. It swamped her. It came down past her hands and her knees; hanging from her shoulders. She tied the knot around her waist and held her hands out in front of her.

Sherlock only stood staring at her for a few moments before John; on his way to the kitchen to rinse out his mug; nudged him in the side as he passed. Sherlock's brain then kicked into gear and he realise what she had wanted him to do. He held out his hand for her to place one of hers in his; and then he slowly and carefully rolled up the sleeve. He did the same with the other sleeve and held onto her hand just slightly longer than was needed. A small smiled tugged at John's lips as he watched from the sink.

Molly re-entered the room; inadvertently interrupting the moment as Sherlock and Irene sprang apart from one another. She had changed clothes- sticking with the blue skinny leg jeans but changing her jumper to a navy blue button up cardigan with little white hearts knitted into it. Her hair was still in the ponytail- but it was noticeably neater than before. She was barefoot.

John suddenly had the urge to go over and greet her, but what would he do? Sweep her off her feet and kiss her? Hug her? Give her a handshake? Offer her a drink? There was nothing he could think of to do so he simply didn't; letting her find her own way into the room.

"I-I have a class this morning." Molly spoke up to no one in particular.

"Oh! Alright- I'll get your things." John registered what she had said and sprang into action.

He went into his room and collected her shoes from the floor; grabbing her laptop and her jumper that she had left there the other night. He went back into the living area where both Sherlock and Irene were both standing; and pressed the items into her arms.

"See you later-?" The farewell came out sounding like a question as Molly turned to leave.

"Definitely." Was John's, perhaps over enthusiastic reply.

Sherlock scoffed from behind him as the front door closed; and Irene giggled.

"What?" John was clueless as he stared at them.

"Honestly, John. What are you doing?" Was Sherlock's answer.

"What he means is- John, when are you two going to stop dancing around each other and go out? Seriously. It's obvious the two of you are madly head over heels for each other."

As Irene spoke up; both Sherlock and John's jaws hung open in disbelief. Sherlock's because no one had ever done that before. No one had ever interrupted his lightning fast quips and come out with anything better. John's because no one had ever translated for him before. Sherlock said things that didn't make sense all the time- and John was forever having to ask him to repeat himself or at least hint at the context. Irene had come in both guns blazing and said exactly what Sherlock had meant in terms John could understand.

Blimey. Maybe she was more important than both of them had first realised.

"I- uh- I don't know what you mean." John said after a few moments of stunned silence.

"I mean you're being infuriatingly oblivious." Sherlock said, folding his arms and sighing.

"She likes you John. Ask her out." Irene did it again. A direct Sherlock to John translation.

John stood there for a few moments before sitting down on the sofa. This was two much for him to take. This was like having two Sherlock's in the room; only one of them was female. It was a bit too much to cope with at seven o clock in the morning. He needed time to think. He had class in half an hour anyway- he better jump to it before he was late again.

* * *

Sherlock sat in the middle of the room- legs crossed over one another and elbows resting on his knees; hands clasped underneath his chin in his preferred position. Irene was sitting on the arm chair beside him; leaning back casually and watching him intently. Neither of them spoke.

* * *

John sat at the back of lecture room B restlessly. He shifted and stirred for the entire lecture; taking only two lines of notes throughout the whole thing; his mind distracted and in the wrong place- making it entirely impossible for him to focus.

* * *

Molly was also in class. She was scribbling down notes a furious pace- her knuckled whitening as she gripped hold of the pen that was scratching it's way across the page. She was trying to distract herself. What if Irene wanted John? There was no way she could deal with that kind of competition. What if John liked Irene? God, that would hurt even more. She was over thinking this and she wasn't even his girlfriend. Time to give the man some space.

* * *

Sherlock was muttering under his breath. The sky was growing dark outside their window and he hadn't moved practically all day. Neither had Irene. She was sitting; entranced as he mumbled and spoke quietly to himself, occasionally muttering an 'Interesting' or sighing in frustration.

"Do you want something to eat?" Irene finally spoke.

"What- where's John?" Sherlock turned around and looked at her; eye brows raised.

"He left. Ages ago. Had to go to class."

"No. No, I'm not hungry." Sherlock waved a hand at her dismissively before rising to his feet.

Irene was fascinated. Not just by this man and his ridiculous good looks- but by the entire way he lived out his life and carried himself. His amazing mind and the things he could deduce just with a single look. He was amazing. Wonderful. He was everything. She stood and took a few steps until she was standing in front of him. Sherlock froze.

And that's when she kissed him.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Authors Note: **Hi everyone! Thanks to all the people that are reviewing and setting story alerts for this fiction. It really means a lot to me. This is just something I'm writing on the side of school and work- and I'm so glad so many people are enjoying it. Hope you like this chapter. x_

* * *

John Watson had a problem.

He didn't know what to believe. He didn't know what his thoughts were doing any more. They were just chasing each other round and round inside his head until one of them finally caught up with itself and came full circle. Something was up with Sherlock. And the entrance of Molly's room mate had only confused him more. What was she doing? What were she and Sherlock up to? It had to be something. Sherlock wasn't polite and considerate for no reason. It just wasn't him.

What if he liked Molly too?

What if he was doing this to get back at John for... something?

John didn't know what on Earth he had done to anger the teen he shared a room with- but he could have done anything normal and he wouldn't have noticed it irritated Sherlock. Something Sherlock was still holding a grudge about perhaps?

What if Irene was on some sort of ploy to set him up?

And where did Molly come into all of this...? If they were scheming- would she know?

This was ridiculous. John had come to think of Sherlock as some kind of god; with intense and undeniable powers of manipulation and persuasion. John knew he was being stupid; but he couldn't seem to stop the thoughts playing cat and mouse inside his head. When the lecture finally came to and end, he sighed and pushed himself up from where he had been slouched over the desk- long ago having given up writing any kind of notes.

He needed a drink.

* * *

"Wha- hey, Watson!"

John strolled into the bar and stopped in his tracks. There was someone there he hadn't seen in what seemed like forever. Greg was standing next to the bar; drink in hand, being casually sloshed over it as he spun around. He was obviously drunk.

And John had only the slightest hesitation before joining him.

John's family didn't exactly have the best reputations when it came to drinking. But here he was; knocking back the pints like there was no tomorrow. One after the other after the other after the other. He had lost count a long time ago and simply started refilling the same drink before it was finished. John needed to forget. And this seemed like the best way to make that happen.

* * *

Sherlock froze.

Something happened. Something happened that had never happened before. Even when he was around John- even when he did something surprising or unexpected- which was more often then Sherlock would have liked to admit, but even when that happened... this didn't.

Sherlock was speechless. He couldn't even muster up and idiotic one word sentence. He had absolutely nothing whatsoever to say. Nothing at all. His mind was wiped totally blank. What the hell had just happened? His gaze flickered upwards. Irene- yes she was still here. She had stepped back though, knowing he needed some space to think. Sherlock spun on the spot, weaving his hands into his messy hair and tugging slightly as he willed himself back to intelligent thought. Nothing happened.

After a few moments of hesitation- Irene turned and started to make her way from the room. She got as far as the door before she heard Sherlock's bare feet padding along the floor. She stopped- but held her hand on the door handle, ready to leave if Sherlock did something unreasonable. Which- let's face it, was highly likely at this point in time.

Sherlock didn't know what he was doing. He was possessed. Something inside him was stirring- and he had never felt it before. But suddenly he could read everything about the woman standing in front of him. She was nervous, yes, but why? She was pleased- obviously to have gotten away with it. She was curious- she had perplexed the man who could work through anything and she wanted to know why. But she was insecure- something about the way she held herself told him she was insecure.

"Why?" He spoke aloud.

"Excuse me?" It took Irene a moment to pull herself together before replying.

"Why are you nervous?" He asked, deciding not to go straight for the insecurities.

"I'm not." She was lying. Obviously.

He let it slip. If she was nervous then they made a matching pair. Sherlock had never done anything like this in his life- never experienced anything like this. He had felt attraction to John, sure. But this was different. This wasn't just attraction... it was _magnetism. _There was something pulling him towards her that made his mind run a muck with questions- all seeking their own individual answers.

It was so frustratingly _human _and he didn't know what to do with it.

So he did the only thing he could do. The only thing he knew how to. And he mirrored human behaviour. He wrapped his long fingers around her pale wrist and pulled he around, placing a firm hand on her waist and ducking down to kiss her.

* * *

"Ninety nine bottles of beer on the wall- ninety nine bottles of beer! Something something something something... eighty four bottles of beer on the wall!"

Lestrade giggled and collapsed into the short stocky man standing next to him. John chuckled and leaned back against him.

"You- are so drunk. Don't lean on me- get off-!"

John had been complaining about how drunk Greg had been getting all night- but he hadn't stopped to notice he was just as intoxicated- if not more. They had been kicked out of the pub at last call and were now wandering around the campus being yelled at out of almost every window they passed. Lestrade giggled again and resumed singing- what he was singing neither of them were quite sure of.

It was two in the morning by the time they finally reached Lestrade's block. John took almost another half an hour to skip and stumble his way to 221B.

* * *

"Sh'lock! Open- open the door-!"

John's voice was a feeble whisper as he kneeled in front of the door to his room. He had given up a long time ago. At the beginning he had been banging and shouting and yelling and swearing, and now he could barely even keep his eyes open long enough to speak a sentence.

He had, of course, woken up most of the building by now, but interestingly the room he most wanted to get into stayed silent. Sherlock either wasn't opening the door; or he was out. And John's past experience told him Sherlock wasn't out at almost three in the morning. Sherlock just didn't do social. Sherlock didn't do _anything._ Sherlock didn't eat. Sherlock barely even slept. It had become John's job to look after him. It was John's job.

John was on his knees outside the door; with his head pressed against the wood. His hands had fallen to his sides and his eyes had drooped closed. He was in danger of falling asleep against the door right then and there when it suddenly opened.

* * *

Molly glanced at her clock.

Jesus Christ. It was almost three in the morning.

There had been someone; obviously drunk; before that had been clambering their way down the corridor outside her room; stopping to bang on the door next to her occasionally. Maybe now they'd finally shut up she could get some sleep...

She had to get some sleep or she would never get up in time to go to revision. And she had to go to revision. She sat next to John in revision. She stopped thinking for a second and smiled. John had become something of a drug to her. Even if she wasn't with him she was always thinking about him; and he hadn't even asked her out.

She didn't even know if he was interested.

She hoped he was. She rolled over onto her side and tugged at the duvet; bringing it up to her chin and tucking in under; sighing as she closed her eyes and tried to sleep again.

* * *

"Sherlock?"

"What?"

"Delivery for you."

Sherlock grunted and then suddenly appeared in the doorway. He was wearing a grey T-shirt and boxer shorts; who even knew Sherlock Holmes owned a T-shirt? John didn't. He had only ever seen him in smart dress shirts, and at the very least jeans. Why was he dressed so casually? John's slow brain soon connected that Irene had been the one to open the door; still dressed in Sherlock's blue dressing gown with the sleeves rolled up. The only difference was that her hair was tied up- he had never seen it like that before. The first and only time he had ever seen her her hair had been down; hanging in loose waves past her shoulders. It was in plait now; loose strands falling around her face and making her look younger. She looked like she belonged in high school now; hair pulled back from her pointed face and make-up removed.

"John." Sherlock's voice pulled the medical student's attention back into focus.

"Sh'lock." John's words slurred together and he didn't look up.

When the door had opened on him he had fallen in the room, quickly adjusting himself so that he was lying on his side; knees pulled up to his chest and chin tucked in.

"John you are drunk."

John chuckled and opened one eye groggily to look up at his flat mate.

"Thank you, Captain Obvious- and you say I state the obvious."

"Yes. Well."

It seemed Sherlock had nothing more to say to that. John was the only second ever person to render the great Sherlock Holmes speechless- and to tell the truth Sherlock was getting rather tired of it. He didn't like being lost for words, it made him feel... well- lost.

"Sherlock- get him inside for god sake. Before he wakes up the entire block." That was Irene.

John giggled drunkenly and curled himself up again- a smile littering his features before turning into a grimace. He was shaking- crying or laughing no one knew- not even John. He didn't even know what he was doing or saying any more- the only thought that was running through his head was '_how the hell am I going to get up in time for class in the morning?' _Then he groaned. In the morning. John never wanted to see morning ever again. Especially if it didn't have Molly in it. Especially if it did have Molly liking Sherlock in it. That would just about kill him.

"She hates me."

"What?" Sherlock paused from where he was sauntering away.

He grabbed hold of the orange blanket off the sofa and tugged it over where John was scrunched up on the floor. John screwed up his nose when he remembered the blanket had been placed over Molly and started to kick it away.

"Stop it. John. Stop. John-!" Sherlock stepped back; dismay written on his features.

Sherlock had never seen John acting so childish. It was usually him throwing the temper tantrums, and refusing to look after himself. It was Sherlock who stayed out all night with no explanation and it was Sherlock who refused to do as he was told. This was not like John. Not like John at all.

"Why should I?"John said defiantly; wriggling around before settling back down on the threshold.

"Because you are acting like a child. Stop it. Stop it now."

John giggled.

"Me? Acting like a child? Welcome to my world, Sherlock. Maybe now once in a while you'll cut me some slack when you're being stubborn."

"Trust you to be stubborn when you're intoxicated..." Irene sighed as she slunk away.

John held a fuzzy memory of being dragged into the room- lifted from the floor and placed in someone's bed. It wasn't his bed. Didn't smell right. Wasn't tidy. Wasn't clean. This was Sherlock's bed; obviously. He didn't have time to think about much else before the drowsiness once again bombarded him and he fell into dream riddled sleep.

* * *

"Up. John. Up- get up."

John rolled over and closed his eyes. Five more minutes.

"No John now. Get up- now!"

It took John a few moments for his brain to process that the words coming from just above him were not Sherlock. They were a woman. A woman he hazily remembered opening the door on him just before his entire memory went blank.

"What're you doing in here?" He slurred his words, the effects of the lager still wearing off.

"I need to get dressed before class. I have class. And so do you, so you better get up or you're going to be late _again _and we both know that's not what you want. So get out."

John sat up and clenched his jaw as his head started to spin. That was the last time he would go out for 'a few drinks' with Greg Lestrade. A few drinks his _ass._

"Why am I in Sherlock's room?"

"His room is closer to the living room. Easier to carry you here than to yours. Now, up."

She was definitely being persistent- he had to give her that.


	7. Chapter 7

_**Authors Note: **So sorry for the super late update! Been going through some stuff, and school is getting heavy! But here it is! I really hope it lives up to some expectations! Remember, reviews are love! I'll reply to your reviews when I have some more free time x_

* * *

Molly woke the next morning to a thumping headache.

She couldn't even see straight. There were white patches in her eyes and everything sounded louder than it should be. She could hear the tick of her bedside clock and the scrape of chair next door. She could hear her laptop, still running, still whirring away from where she had forgotten to shut it down last night. She could hear everything. Everything except the one sound she had grown accustomed to. A certain long legged, brunette haired student making coffee in the kitchen.

For the first time in two nights- she woke up in her own apartment. And she found that she didn't like it. Not one bit.

* * *

Sherlock woke up in John's bed. Why was he in John's bed? Why wasn't John in John's bed? He blinked a few times before the memories of earlier (too early for his liking) that morning came flooding back. It wasn't like him to forget something- but he had been so exhausted that night when he dropped into bed he had practically collapsed. John had come home drunk. They ha dragged him into Sherlock's bed as it was closer to the door; and therefore easier to get him into. Adler had slept on the sofa. He had woken to her gone. She had left.

Just like everyone else did eventually.

It was only a matter of time before John figured that out and left him too.

* * *

John had jumped into action shortly after Irene had left. He ran into the shower- quickly rinsed himself in what he thought was a world record time- and then exited the bedroom; only pausing on his way out to peer at the sleeping teen on his own bed. The thought struck John that he had never seen Sherlock properly asleep. Not like this. John had seen him collapsed from exhaustion and hazy from hunger; but he had never seen him voluntarily curled up asleep in his own bed. He looked... at least five years younger. He looked like a child. Sherlock was in a T-shirt and shorts, curled in the middle of the bed with the duvet wrapped around him, one leg hitched over the edge of a pillow as he lay on his side.

He looked almost innocent. John laughed to himself and shook the notion from his head. Sherlock? Innocent? Sherlock's innocence had probably gone out the window the minute he had learnt to speak.

* * *

Irene didn't have time for class today.

She had to go to work. She had quickly showered and pushed John from the room after she woke, rushing to get dressed in last nights clothes before she could change into her uniform. She could grab it from her room next door and run straight to work- that way she would save a few minutes and possibly manage to clock in on time.

She hated being a waitress. It was one of the most demeaning jobs she had ever done. Well, she thought, she had been an 'exotic dancer' for a short time but that was over as soon as it had started. She had always wanted to go to university; but she found she was never presented with the same opportunities as all of her friends. She never had the money to go to a good high school, she could never afford to go clubbing or on a trip to the movies. Irene had stayed at home; day after day; struggling just to get her school work in on time.

The day she remembers as the best day of her life- was the day she got accepted into university. She was so happy. She had spent so many sleepless nights sitting in the dimly lit back seat of a diner, scribbling out edits and notes on her paperwork and just hoping she had enough change for the printer in the library so she could type them out. She had received a full payed student scholarship.

And she was skipping. Skipping everything she had worked so hard to get; just so that she could survive. And she hated it.

* * *

John sat in the back row of the auditorium willing the clock to tick faster.

For the first time in two nights he had gone to bed without having first witnessing Molly's slow (and utterly adorable) decent into the land of nod. To be fair though- he didn't really remember falling asleep in the first place. The last thing he remembered was being dragged through the door and dumped on the floor. He had no recollection at all of how he had ended up in the bed.

He sighed and tapped his pen against the plastic coating of the desk. Molly hadn't shown up for class.

* * *

Molly placed the plastic container in the microwave and slammed it shut. As soon as it popped back open again she hit it with her elbow- willing it to stay shut this time. You'd think that between them they could afford a better microwave. Molly had been working in the same old position ever since high school and she didn't really mind. She worked in a small, not very well known, second hand charity shop near the university and where she used to live. It was nice. Quaint. She liked it.

Molly had made the decision not to go to class. She had never missed a day of class from the moment she had started going. She had always loved school; and that had transformed into a love of university. But she was ill and she had too much on her mind. For the rest of the afternoon, Molly roamed around the small flat in old grey tracksuit bottoms and her cream cable knit sweater; her hair loose over her shoulders.

Nothing could interest her today.

* * *

As soon as they were dismissed, John jumped from his seat so fast he was probably a blur. He had to go and see Molly. Nothing and no one was going to get in his way. He had to talk to her- even if everything he said made him sound like an idiot. It didn't even matter. As long as he got to say what he wanted to. If Molly hadn't turned up to class, then where would she be? John didn't know where she worked or even when she worked, so that was off the table. She obviously wasn't in his flat unless Sherlock had let her in; and why would she go there anyway?

The only place left to look was her own flat. He had never been inside. That was just one more thing Sherlock had managed to achieve before him. He remembered Molly mentioning things she had left lying around- maybe she hadn't wanted him in there either because she was embarrassed? Or maybe she just didn't like him. John wouldn't blame her if she liked Sherlock over him. I mean- Sherlock was taller, better looking, more graceful, more intelligent, and exotic.

But Sherlock liked Irene didn't he?

What had happened that night when Sherlock had gone into her room. He hadn't heard anything. Sherlock hadn't said anything. As far as John was concerned he assumed that nothing of any particular importance had happened. But Sherlock Holmes didn't just go into people's rooms and stay there; returning the next morning as if nothing had happened. But then Irene had stayed over in their flat the next night. And she was wearing his dressing gown. And Sherlock was in some state of undress when he had come home- he remembered that much. This was all a bit much for him to think about. Sherlock didn't do emotions or relationships; he just simply didn't. So what was he doing with Irene?

There was something going on. And he wanted to know, now.

* * *

Sherlock woke with a start.

He felt... strange. Content. Maybe even _happy_. Well, whatever it was, it wasn't a feeling he had grown accustomed to. He experienced a few moments of temporary amnesia before the events of the night before came flooding back. Irene kissed him. Sherlock remembered doing the only thing he knew how; he mirrored her behaviour and kissed her back. He found he hadn't entirely hated it like he thought he would. It was rather nice actually. There was something soothing in the way she made his mind go blank and his thoughts run clear. She uncluttered his mind. And that was something he was sure he liked. He was always thinking- thoughts always going around and around in circles until they caught up with one another and he came to the correct conclusion. He would have to gain more experience before he could totally claim himself a good kisser; but he was definitely on his way there.

Soon after that they had settle on the sofa. Sherlock had started seated; and then gradually they had shifted around one another and arranged themselves so that he was lying full length on the sofa and Irene was tucked into the small space in between the back of the sofa and Sherlock's side; her chin and one hand resting on his chest. After a little while she had started to drift off; complaining that Sherlock was 'too uncomfortable'. He went and had a shower; not changing back into his clothes but into the garments he usually wore to bed, that was, when he could be bothered to change. When he returned she was sprawled out on the sofa; eyes half closed already and threatening to shut completely. He shuffled his way back onto the sofa and they dozed off; how they had been before. Content just to stay like that.

To any other normal person they looked like a regular couple falling asleep in the living room watching the television. Except the television wasn't on. They were both silent for the entire night; not wanting to spoil the perfect daydream they had created around and within each other.

This was good. For now.

* * *

Shit.

Shit shit shit shit shit _shit._

And now it was raining. John just had to be the luckiest man on Earth today. As he excited the auditorium block and began to make his way towards student housing; his thoughts were interrupted by a loud crack of thunder, and a few seconds later the heavens opened in an onslaught of icy cold rain. Today just wasn't his day.

John took a deep breath, braced himself, and then ran out into he pelting rain. It was _freezing._ And he hadn't even brought a coat. By the time he actually got to the housing block; he was absolutely soaked from head to toe. His socks were sopping and he could even hear them squelching in his shoes every time he took a step. He didn't even pause to shake himself off before climbing the stairs to his floor. Instead of jamming his key into his lock and pushing the door open with his shoulder like he usually would he kept walking on to the next door; banging on it loudly he shouted Molly's name without hesitation.

"Jesus Christ, John you're soaking!"

John stumbled into the room and immediately started to pace back and forth in the main living area. He glanced around quickly and only had time for a quick summary of the room- it was almost exactly like theirs. The set out was almost identical, but it was the little things that drew his attention. There were fridge magnets on the fridge, and everything just seemed generally less messy. If held next to each other, you could clearly tell which flat was inhabited by males and which by females. There was an ironing board set out in the living area, with a white shirt hanging off it and a pair of jeans perched half ironed on the end.

"Yes, it's raining. I came here to talk to you."

"Ok-?" Molly's voice hitched up at the end making it sound like a question.

"Do you like Sherlock?" John stopped pacing in front of her, hair soaked to his forehead and clothes dripping on the carpet.

"O-of course I like him John. He can be rude, but there's no reason why he can't learn manners." Molly stuttered.

"No, no, Molly not like that. Do you like him like- like you want to date him?"

John's voice had dropped from almost a yell to be heard above the heavy rain, to a small timid whisper. Molly stayed quiet for a moment, their faces just inches apart. They were so close- but John felt as if they were both so far away. He was trying so hard to reach out to her but just couldn't get there- just couldn't get in touch for some reason. Molly hesitated, sighing heavily before replying.

"I knew that was what this was about."

"So? What's your answer Molly? So help me god- I'll walk out this room right now-"

Molly stepped forward and suddenly John was surround in her. He was surrounded in soft, and in comfort and in _Molly _as she enveloped him in a hug. His words stuck in his throat and it took him a few moments before he reached his arms up and wrapped himself around her. He was wet and soaking and Christ, he was almost sobbing but she didn't seem to care.

"John, listen to me. I like Sherlock. He's rude and arrogant and absolutely _infuriating. _But he has a brilliant mind, and deep down I really think his intentions are good. He doesn't seem like he has many friends and he doesn't deserve that. At all. So many people lash out and bully him because he's different- but you're the bigger person. You rose to the occasion and now he has possibly the first friend he's had in a long time. I would be honoured to be the second. But I don't want to date him."

John sagged in her arms. Everything she said about Sherlock was true- he didn't have friends, and that didn't bother him, but one day he was going to need a friend and John was going to be there for him, as much as Sherlock was going to push him away. And Molly didn't want to date him. She didn't.

"I- oh god Molly. I don't even know what to say now."

Molly giggled and squeezed him in their embrace before pulling away to hold him at arms length.

"Say 'let's get dinner'."


	8. Chapter 8

_**A/N: **Again, my sincerest apologies for the long time between updates, and welcome those of you who have joined my update list since last time! My updates are very few and fare between so please don't rely on this fan fiction. The friend I'm writing this for, her character is introduced in this chapter, please play nice and don't hate on her, she's Lestrade's sexy little sister ;)_

* * *

John and Molly walked into the bar to find John's usual spot filled. But not by one or two people, by and entire hoard of people. By students mostly, and a few people they didn't even recognise as well. Molly stood awkwardly in the door, stepping over the threshold once, back again, twice, and then a third time before John placed a gentle hand on the small of her back, encouraging her to stay where she was. It was difficult for her, he knew it was, as she shifted and shuffled on the spot.

"Molly, it's alright." He whispered, leaning down to speak directly into her ear.

"I know, I know it is, I just, don't- I don't like crowds that's all." She stuttered back.

John smiled softly and patted her back, rubbing his hand in small circles as she started to relax. She breathed deeply, leaning back into the touch and stopping her incessant foot shuffling. The hand on her back settled around her waist and they both smiled, Molly sighing softly as she felt herself relax and John relax as she did.

"And then- oh god you should have seen his face! Do you know- he had absolutely no idea! No idea at all- no, no, no, I'm not even kidding!"

There was a tall girl sitting on the bar, not at the bar… on it. She was tall, not gangly tall, but elegant tall. Wearing black jeans, and a thin grey jumper, she looked just casual enough to be in the bar, but fancy enough to be an upper class student at least. She held herself quite well, capturing the attention of the people surrounding her with ease. It was a few moments before John coaxed Molly all the way through the doorway and into the bar, gesturing her to sit down on one of the chairs in a nearby booth, before turning to get drinks. He made his way toward the bar, and within a few paces the dark haired girl had stopped recounting her tale entirely and was staring at him; fuming.

"You- it was you wasn't it?" She said, as he approached.

"Uh- me? Was what me?"

The girl the proceeded to hop down from the bar, landing quite gracefully on the balls of her feet and taking three long paces towards him, when she stopped leaving them standing only a few feet apart. She was… definitely tall. Definitely. John wasn't known for his height, (other than his lack of it) but she was at least half a head taller than him if not as tall as Sherlock himself.

"It was you. You went out with my brother last night and then got him blindingly drunk, only to have him come knocking on my door at four in the morning asking if I could find him a new girlfriend. Then, he put his head through my back window, which, by the way you're paying for, and shouted at me until I came to get him. If you ever do it again, so help me god, you will not live to see the end of your diploma."

John stood, open mouthed, becoming more and more shocked as her spiel went on, letting her finish before holding his hands into the air as if in surrender.

"Look- I'm sorry- what was it-?"

"Amy. Amy Lestrade." She said, backing off a little bit.

"Oh. Oh! Oh, right. Look Amy, I'm sorry for anything that I may have caused, and I will of course pay for any damage, but maybe you should just let him in next time…?"

John heard a round of guffawed laughter from the crowd surrounding the bar, and a slightly shocked squeak of a giggle from Molly's direction. Amy's mouth hung open in astonishment for a few moments before she narrowed her eyes and spoke.

"Just stay away from my brother, alright?"

John didn't say anything, he simply shrugged his shoulders and backed off a few paces, letting Amy go back to her position on the bar, although this time she drew up a stool and sat, the bar tender quickly serving her a glass of what looked like vodka and coke. She was obviously a regular. She was obviously well known. And yet- all term John hadn't seen her, didn't even recognize her from around campus.

* * *

Should he wake her? Would she want to be woken? He had no idea. What did one do in situations such as this one? Sherlock wouldn't know, he had no experience whatsoever. Was he stressing a little too much? Probably. Was he supposed to let her sleep? Maybe. Was he supposed to wake her up? Maybe.

"Sh'lock?"

He jumped slightly at the sound of Irene's voice coming from the sofa, and he peered around his hands that had been previously steepled in front of his face to look at her once sleeping form. Irene had been asleep for two hours as Sherlock had watched over her, observing every turn, every murmur, every sniffle and every shift of weight. She was used to sleeping in a small pace; evident from the way she curled up and withdrew her limbs automatically should they get too close to the edge of the cushions. Probably shared a bed, from the way she readjusted herself to accommodate him without waking when Sherlock had removed himself from their embrace. With who? Boyfriend? Lover? Sister? Did it matter? Not really. Would he stop thinking about it? Never.

"Sherlock?"

The question came from the same spot, clearer this time as Irene woke up a little more and took the arm that had been covering her face away. Sherlock took a few seconds and then jerked as he realised she was asking for him.

"Mmm? What is it?" He said, acknowledging her absent mindedly.

"What time is it? How long have you been awake?"

Irene shifted slightly, wiping the sleep away from her eyes and sat up, gripping her head for a moment and settling through the head rush before adjusting her legs over the edge of the sofa cushions and looking up at him through her tangled hair. He had never noticed it before but it was wavy. Not curly, not straight, but it fell in dark waves almost to her elbows. Looked… soft.

"I don't know what time it is. I don't know how long I've been awake."

Again it took him a few moments to respond before he came to the realization that the question was directed at him, and questions usually warranted answers. He wasn't being helpful at all, but answering questions on sleep, time, and things like that weren't exactly his strong point. Time was irrelevant; things happened the same way and in the same time frame irrelevant of sunlight or no.

"Well, thanks for that." Irene said with a soft smile, before yawning.

They had fallen asleep on the sofa the night before, John had come home drunk, Sherlock had slept in Johns room, and Sherlock had spent the rest of the day practically passed out on the sofa trying to think of why Irene had left without saying goodbye. Without even waking him up. From what he had deduced about her so far she wasn't the most reliable and stable person in the world, so he had yet to perceive whether he would ever even see her again. Sentiment. He was experiencing sentiment. It was painful; confusing; it interfered with his thought pattern. Eventually he had thought himself almost into a trance, something he did sometimes when he couldn't get away from the thoughts that were chasing each other around and round in the circus of his mind. He didn't pay attention to anything around him, but he wasn't asleep either. During that time Irene had returned, and positioned herself on the sofa beside him. Sherlock had been sitting upside down on the chair, his legs parallel to the back and his head hanging down off the edge, hands lying flat against his stomach. Irene had soon dozed off again, watching his entranced figure, sitting with her legs folded underneath her and leaning against his legs.

"Have you done anything all day?" She asked, glancing at his sleeping attire.

He was wearing the same thing he had been wearing the night before, with the addition of a soft silk blue dressing gown. He waggled his toes and shrugged his shoulder, not even bothering to answer as any idiot could guess the answer from the available evidence.

"Ok well, get up, get dressed, we're going out."

Sherlock screwed up his nose in a grimace, and Irene laughed and smiled fondly as if he were her annoying little brother refusing to tie his shoe laces.

"Don't look at me like that- I have to meet someone. And I'm not going to leave you here moping in your pyjamas the entire afternoon. I won't hear of it- so get up before I get you up myself."

"Oh, I'd love to see you try." Sherlock said, drawling and raising an eyebrow suggestively.

Within a second Irene was on him, not close to him, but literally on him. He only had a few seconds to process the visual information he had been provided with before she had rounded on where he was sitting cross legged on the floor, pushing his legs out from underneath him and straddling his hips.

"I really don't think you would." Irene purred, lowering her face until they were just inches apart from each other.

Sherlock reached up to hold her shoulders, a small feeble attempt to flip them over before her elegant fingers were around his wrists and he was pinned entirely to the floor by her wiry feminine form.

"Get off me."

"Only if you get up."

"Fine."

"And get dressed."

"You never said I had to get up and get dressed."

"Well now I have. What's it to be?"

"Fine."

Sherlock hesitated before answering, but he knew arguing was pointless. She would keep him pinned to the floor for the entire night if he insisted on having his way. Irene smiled sweetly, as if she hadn't just threatened him like some sort of combat maniac, and dismounted his hips, sauntering over to his bedroom and looking back at him with a smile.

"You'll wear something nice- please." She said, before disappearing inside.


	9. Chapter 9

**Say What You Mean Chapter #9**

_**A/N: **Again, everyone who's even still reading has my sincerest apologies for the unpredictable length between updates. I have been having some personal issues and have just been released from Hospital and am still on crutches... so please bear with me! And thanks for the new followers of this story! And they people who've subscribed- bless you for doing that. x_

Sherlock knew he was in for it the moment he started doing what she said. Since when did Sherlock Holmes take orders from people? Better yet, since when did Sherlock Holmes take orders from skinny women who seemed to think she was the best thing since sliced bread? Well, since that evening apparently, as that was exactly what he found himself doing.

"Black or white?"

"Excuse me?"

"Don't be dim. My shirt, black or white?"

Sherlock stood in the middle of his own bedroom, and after ten minutes of trying to shoo Irene from his room to get changed, she was still there.

"Black."

"What's wrong with white?"

"Nothing, you look nice in black."

"Are you saying I don't look nice in white?"

"Don't be dim."

Sherlock sighed and took the hanger beholding the notorious black shirt from it's hanger, manoeuvring himself carefully around Irene's wiry figure and towards the bed, where he had already laid out trousers, socks, underwear, and a jacket. After a pointed look and a much heavier than necessary sigh, Irene moved from the bedroom to the bathroom, where she began to fix what she was wearing; as much as it needed fixing that is.

Ten minutes prior she had gone back to her apartment, only to return in a pair of fitted black suit trousers that she made look more fashionable than they probably should have. Along with the suit trousers, she was wearing a button up red blouse and a set of gold hoop earrings he noticed she had not been wearing before, her hair in a neat but loose french plait.

Irene took hold of Sherlock's comb, neatly thumbing it through the edges of her hair and straightening her parting, all the while trying not to tap her ballet flat clad feet with impatience.

"Sherlock, I swear to god-"

"Don't swear to god, I'm sure he didn't do anything to deserve it."

"Don't interrupt. I swear you take longer than most women do to get changed."

Sherlock sighed, and toed open the door of the bathroom as his hands were full with the clothes he had been wearing beforehand. He dumped them into the corner of the bathroom, was met with a stern glance from Irene, and gently nudged her out the way to claim the mirror.

After a few seconds of fruitlessly searching for his comb, he came to the conclusion that it wasn't there; just as he was turning around he glimpsed the sight of Irene using it to scratch her neck. Holding a hand out and raising a brow, it took a few moments for Irene to figure out what he was after, placing the comb in his open palm with a sigh.

X X X

John and Molly sat in a small booth toward the back of the bar, neither of them saying anything until the silence was broken by the ringing of John's mobile phone. He answered it swiftly, grateful for the tension break as he voiced his greeting.

"Hullo? Yes. Yes. No. Okay. We're at the back towards the left. Okay. Goodb-"

Whoever was on the other end of the line rung off before John got a chance to say his goodbyes, and he looked mildly irritate as he sat up to slip the phone back into his pocket.

"Oh?" Molly said, by way of asking who it had been on the other line.

"Sherlock. Wanted to know where we were for dinner."

"Oh. And he is...?"

Molly knew better than to think Sherlock would make a phone call without a reason, and she knew it had something to do with where they were. In the past few days she had spent around the man, she had probably only seen him actually pick up a phone to either call someone or receive a call once.

"On his way over. With Irene."

Molly's eye brows shot up almost to her hairline as he said this. It was shock enough that Sherlock had tolerated Irene's prolonged company at all over the past day, but to actually go out of his way to spend time with her... that was more than unusual.

"Oh yes?"

"Yes. Apparently she wanted to have dinner."

"Oh, I see."

John had sat across from Molly on the table, and he looked up from the table for a moment before chuckling slightly to himself. Molly's gaze shot up, and she cast him a puzzled look before she started giggling along- albeit still with a lost puppy look still littering her features. John quickly got up from the bench before he could change his mind, and took a hasty seat next to Molly on the other side of the booth.

"Don't mind, do you?"

"'Course not. Don't be silly."

"I don't know quite what to say." John said, with a small shy smile in her direction.

"Neither do I. Does it matter?"

"No. No, I rather think it doesn't."

They both smiled at each other. They were soft smiles, slightly awkward and very shy. They were the smiles of people who were still getting to know each other, the happy but unsure smiles of a new couple still getting used to each other. It wasn't perfect. But it was real. And that was more than good enough for both of them.

X X X

Sherlock harrumphed for the thousandth time that night as he snatched his arm from Irene's grasp as they neared the door. A flash of her student ID and they were in through the doors of the tavern, sauntering towards the back booths with what seemed like purpose but was in fact just duress. For Sherlock anyway. Irene at least wanted to be there.

It was a sight to behold as Molly turned around in the booth to see the pair swaggering towards them, John also craning his neck in order to see them. They were both tall, dark, beautiful, and had a grace in the way they moved that took most models years to perfect.

John sighed at the sight and resigned himself to simply trying to make the best of what he had been given. Short, blonde, stocky, and a little bit too round for his liking, John knew he was only slightly above average when it came to looks. Well, what he lacked in appearance, he thought he made up quite well for when it came to loyalty.

"Sherlock! Nice of you to join me for once." John said, as Sherlock begrudgingly sat.

"Eating is not my favourite past time John, as you know."

John rolled his eyes and felt Molly's hand gently land on his thigh as Irene and Sherlock got themselves sorted in the seats opposite. It seemed Irene made Molly nervous- perhaps even in the same manner in which Sherlock made him feel below average. It was with this revelation and a soft smile that John covered her small trembling hand with his larger, steady one.

"Sorry we're later than expected. We had an issue with shirts." Irene purred.

"An issue with shirts? ...Whose shirts?" John replied after a moment.

"His shirts. Apparently by saying he looks nice in black, I was therefore implying that he does not look nice in white- which I thought was quite a-"

"Fair assumption?" Sherlock cut across her speech before she could finish.

"I was going to say ridiculous notion actually."

Sherlock nudged his elbow into Irene's and a small smile played across her pixie like features as he looked up at her, briefly, from under his unruly fringe. If John wasn't so observant and used to the stubborn ways of his assigned flat mate, he would have missed it. But there it was. Sherlock Holmes was happy. Sherlock Holmes was maybe even a little bit in love.

Even if he didn't know it.

X X X

Molly yawned and she wavered slightly as she walked down the narrow hall, trying desperately to remember where they were supposed to be going.

"Molly?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm going to drop you here. You've got your key?"

"Hmm."

"Okay. Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

It took a few seconds for John to realise he had done something ridiculously wrong. After the fuss he'd made before about wanting to date Molly, he was going to leave her at her doorstep and not even kiss her? What was wrong with the man. He was going insane inside his own head. After a few moments of fumbling fruitlessly for her key, Molly noticed she hadn't heard the door of the flat next to hers open and close. She turned around, wobbly and tired on her feet, and saw John was still standing there with a hand stretched out- as if he was going to do something but halfway through completing the action he had decided against it.

"John?"

"What? Yes- Yes?"

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing. Nothing Molly, just-"

After a second of almost awkward hesitation, John closed the gap between them and placed a hand on on her shoulder, letting it fall to her forearm as soon as their lips met. His stocky fingers could almost wrap themselves around her arm entirely as she leaned into him- but after a few moments the soft kiss was over.

"I- that was- well-"

Molly stuttered her way through a selection of different sentence starters before she finally decided not to say anything at all and just lean forward, tilt her head, and capture Johns lips with her own before he could say anything else.

"Goodnight John." She said, turning away and returning to the search for her keys.

X X X

Irene came careening through the doors of their apartment only moments after Molly, not bothering to lock it behind her as she dumped her keys and coat on the back of a dining room chair. Molly jumped awake as she heard the door slam. Gingerly sitting up where she had fallen on the sofa, Molly blinked her eyes open sleepily.

"S'the time?" She mumbled.

"Just past midnight. Where's John?"

"Back in their apartment. Sherlock too."

It had been a tough few weeks since Irene had joined the dormitories. She was barely ever home, and when she was she was being crude, dismissive, and overall rather antisocial. Molly had been too shy to speak to her to begin with, and it had gradually dwindled away to simply feeling unwelcome to.

After dinner they had split up, John and Molly going to have a walk around campus and Sherlock and Irene had gone to pull some favours in the medical wings practical morgue. It was around ten in the evening when they had gone their separate ways, and soon enough they had all found their way back to the apartments.

"D'you like him Irene?" It was the first time Molly had addressed Irene directly.

Irene stopped what she had been doing, pottering about the kitchen and trying to find a clean mug to get some coffee. She paused, and looked around the see her flat mate sitting cross legged smack bang in the middle of the sofa, sleepily returning her gaze.

"Do I like who?" She said, quietly.

"Him. Sherlock. D'you like him?"

After a few moments, Irene tapped her nails on the side of the mug she was holding and replied.

"Yes. Yes, I rather think I do. What about you?"

"Hmm?"

"You like John?"

"...I rather think I do."


	10. Chapter 10

**Say What You Mean Chapter #10**

"So are you going to send one to your brother?"

"No."

"Not even-"

"No."

John sighed heavily and rolled his eyes, returning to his task with an air of defeat. There was nothing he could say to change Sherlock's mind- he was not, by an means, sending a Christmas card to his brother. It had been almost three weeks since the events of the second semester, in which Irene was pulled into the mix of university students and Molly and John found unlikely companions in each other.

Irene and Sherlock still hadn't gone past the casual touching stage of their relationship, and Sherlock seemed intent on refusing the fact that they were dating despite all evidence to the contrary. John and Molly were getting along well, holding regular study nights and occasionally sleeping over in the others apartment. Despite not having progressed much physically- John felt they were going well.

It was only a week until Christmas and things around campus were getting festive. Each lecturer had abided by school tradition and provided a small tree for their lecture hall or classroom, and decorations were being hung from room to room around the dorms. There seemed to be nothing Sherlock would do to aid the festivities, but John and Molly were not about to give up trying. Upon asking Irene if she was bothered about Sherlock's lack of spirit, she had simply shrugged off the question, as if they had asked what type of cheese she preferred on toast.

Sherlock and John were in the east wing of the student library, Sherlock leaning back in his chair, feet on the table despite being told several times by a librarian to remove them, eyes closed. He seemed to be deep in thought, but John could never be too sure whether he was or had just decided to take a rather impromptu nap in an unconventional place.

John was desperately addressing Christmas cards, having bought about fifty identical designs from the campus post office that morning. It was a Saturday, and campus was quiet. Everyone was away with their families or out Christmas shopping for the weekend. Molly had gone out to lunch with her sister, and Irene was somewhere... working.

It was rare for the two boys to be alone together since their union with the girls, and John found it intriguingly quiet for it to be just the two of them. Since Sherlock had joined his apartment he had been nothing but noise, trouble and either oversleeping or not sleeping at all. In contradiction with all of John's better judgement, he had taken it upon himself to take care of the skinny student, making sure he sleeps, eats, and generally just stays alive one day at a time.

John put down his pen and groaned as he stretched out the fingers on his hand, ridding them of the incessant cramps they had acquired through the long hours writing cards.

"Sherlock?"

There was no answer.

"Sherlock answer me for goodness sake." John said, rubbing a hand over his face frustratedly.

"...What is it?" Sherlock answered without opening his eyes.

"What do you want for Christmas?"

John felt ridiculous for asking the question in the first place, but his suspicions were confirmed as Sherlock scoffed humourlessly and opened one eye to peek out at him.

"You're not seriously suggesting we exchange Christmas gifts?"

Sherlock's tone was disbelieving. To John, it seemed inevitable that he would ask the question at some point, as he now considered them friends despite what an annoying prat Sherlock could really be sometimes. But to Sherlock, he considered Christmas gift giving trivial and annoying, a sheer waste of money to take part in a holiday that belonged to a religion he was not a part of.

"I'm not expecting you to get me anything. But I want to get you something."

"Then get me the gift of not having to take part in this dreadful event."

"Something that's actually worth something."

"It's worth the price of my sanity."

"Sherlock."

Sherlock sighed and his feet dropped down from the table back onto the carpet with a thump as he straightened himself up in his chair. After a few moments, he ruffled a hand through his unruly curls in frustration and fixed a pointed glare at the would be doctor.

"John I don't know. I don't like Christmas. It makes no sense."

"Fine. That's fine. Just tell me what to get you. I should warn you; Molly and Irene both want to get you something as well. So be nice when they ask, okay?"

"John I- fine. Fine, I'll be as nice as I can."

John sighed. He supposed that was all he could really ask. Sherlock being as nice as he can, was basically code for Sherlock not being as snarky as usual. But it was better than nothing; and that was all John could ask for. Maybe that would be his Christmas gift from Sherlock- a little bit of pleasantry and politeness over the Christmas period.

X X X

"Come to the Christmas party with us."

"Was that a question or an order?"

"Neither. It was a request."

"Well I won't. I don't do Christmas."

Sherlock was sitting in the library, still, an hour and a half after John had left him to get some food for dinner. He hadn't moved an inch from where he had been perched on the edge of a chair, elbows on his knees with his hands supporting his head, staring off into space.

"Why not?"

"Because it's dull."

Molly sighed. It seemed she would never get through to him. Molly had been sent down by Irene, shortly after Irene herself had tried to subtly hint at needing a date for the Christmas party unsuccessfully. Molly was perched on the wooden table in front of him, her knees brought to her chest by her arms as she rocked herself with barely contained frustration.

"But it'll be fun. It's fancy dress."

Now to Molly, that sounded like it made the party better. However the look of pure horror that sprung to Sherlock's features as soon as she even mentioned the words fancy dress, was enough to scare her away for a lifetime.

"Fancy dress is not _fun_. It is in now way _fun_. I don't know what your definition of fun is Molly, but fancy dress is not it."

Sherlock sighed and lifted himself from the seat, stretching with a suppressed groan from the tension release of having sat in the same position for hours. John was forever telling him it was bad for his back, but just the same as ever Sherlock adamantly refused to listen.

"Ugh- look, Sherlock, I don't want to sound bossy but people need dates for this. Okay? John asked me, now do the decent thing and ask Irene okay?"

Sherlock stopped where he had been re-adjusting the waistband of his jeans and looked at Molly in shock. Molly, the small girl who never spoke up. Molly the medical student who was never noticed. Molly, quiet, shy, polite, righteous Molly Hooper was telling him what to do. A small smile crept over his face as the thoughts ran through his mind. Molly was so insecure. She wasn't sure of herself and wasn't even aware of her self worth.

"He's good for you."

"What?"

"John. He's good for you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means, Miss Hooper-" Sherlock paused, grimacing noticeably before he spoke,

"That I will... come. To the party."

Molly's mouth fell open for a few moments before she had the realisation it was and shut it. Sherlock didn't know what had changed his mind- maybe it had been short, timid, mousy brown haired Molly Hooper telling him he had to go, or maybe it was the fact that he knew Irene had been looking forward to this for weeks and if he didn't show up-

Well. Hell hath no fury like a women scorned.

X X X

"He's coming."

"He's coming?!"

"Who's coming?"

"You're coming!"

Molly had crashed through the door, exclaiming the news, Irene's face lighting up with delight as Sherlock followed behind Molly asking the question they all seemed to know the answer to but still felt the need to ask.

"If I have to."

"You do."

"I suppose I'm coming then."

Irene squealed slightly as she padded across the floor in her stockings, throwing herself at Sherlock's wiry frame and wrapping her arms around his neck. Sherlock looked stunned, and as he stared at Molly over her shoulder she smiled and mouthed 'go on'. Sherlock placed his hands gingerly on either side of Irene's waist and was surprised when he felt her push closer. After a few moments she let him go and he swallowed.

"Why do you look so confused?"

"Why did you do that?"

"Do what?"

"_That!"_

"It's a hug Sherlock. You give them when you're happy. Or sad. It doesn't really matter."

Sherlock frowned and Irene's face fell. Molly's small voice sounded behind them and the pair both swivelled to pay attention. They were so accidentally in sync it was ridiculous.

"I don't- I don't think... anyone's ever wanted to give you a hug before."

"When people do that to me they're usually trying to tackle me to the ground in anger."

Molly choked on her own words audibly as a hand flew to cover her open mouth. Irene's eyes simply changed. The sparkle- the light was gone. The glint that had been in her eye just moments before had disappeared, and was replaced by a sad sort of shadow. Irene had heard lots of things in her time. People didn't like her, people pretended to like her but didn't, people started rumours about her. But she had always known what it was like to be _hugged._

"Well I'm not going to do that. At least not at the moment." She said, almost whispering.

"I appreciate it."

Sherlock chuckled and smirked, his lip curling up in that unmistakeable smile. The smile he only got when John cooked him breakfast when he hadn't eaten for three days, when Molly made his bed after he had left for morning classes. The smile he only got from small things. The things he had really learnt to appreciate.

The things that made him see- people cared.

X X X

John fumbled with his keys and eventually burst into the apartment, after frustratedly discovering that the door was already unlocked. He waltzed into the living room, hoping to see Sherlock, or Sherlock and Irene, or maybe even Molly. But instead he got an eyeful as he spotted all three, the two girls curled up on the sofa with Sherlock sitting at Molly's feet.

"Oh uh... hullo?"

"Ah John. Please save me." Sherlock drawled.

"Don't listen to him, he's secretly having fun." Irene smiled and waved him over.

Molly's was the most enthusiastic greeting as she jumped up from the couch, flinging herself towards him and almost knocking him over as she wrapped her arms around his middle. John was clearly taken by surprise, but Sherlock saw a wide smile spread over his face as he held her tight around her shoulders.

"Ha- hey." He said quietly, as she buried her head in the crook of his neck.

When Molly pulled away, her faced was flushed, partly with the excitement and John suspected- partly from slight embarrassment. He wanted her to know it was okay- that he might have even done the same thing had their places been reversed- but she pulled away far too quickly for him to even get a word out. Sherlock frowned and got up from the floor, spindly legs unfolding as he did so and straightened his shirt.

"So, I can practically feel the excitement- what's happened?"

And that was all it took for Molly and Irene to hurriedly explain that yes, in fact, Sherlock had finally agreed to attend the Christmas party with them, but no, he had not yet agreed to go in costume. Apparently that was a little too much to ask all at once. Sherlock clambered about in the kitchen, digging in the pile of dishes on the draining board for a clean mug to use for his tea.

"John?"

"Mmm?"

"Do the washing up would you?"

This caused the girls to burst on in uncontrollable giggles, and before John knew it he was laughing along with them. According to Molly, it seemed ridiculously funny because Sherlock was so bossy- and Irene thought they sounded like an old married couple. After a few moments of puzzled looks shot over by Sherlock himself, he confusedly requested again- that John do the washing up- setting them off on another round of giggles.


End file.
